


choking games.

by valeskuh



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Choking, F/M, Fingering, M/M, Multi, Other, ambiguous reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valeskuh/pseuds/valeskuh
Summary: put your arms around my neck, i’ll only go to sleep for a second.





	choking games.

You don’t breathe so easy sometimes.

It's initially not a grip to restrict air- it never is-, merely to restrict blood flow. But possessive still, reassuring for all its danger, and Jerome sheds his patience easily  
You feel momentarily drunk on sensation, intoxicated by Jerome’s presence in ways you’re powerless to avoid. While you don’t grab at him, belatedly obeying rules you’d already broken multiple times before, you already fully ensnared Jerome beyond his understanding.

To be used as his toy, his doll, was an honor to you. These games he liked to play were to test your endurance, to milk his sadism, to please you all the same. He liked seeing his victims turn purple, and you liked feeling the burn of your lungs when they starved for air.

His grip will tighten, as it always does, and soon you’re at his mercy.   
He’ll push hard and harder still with his hand between your legs, and he’ll dig his fingertips into the sides of   
your neck- he’ll feel your esophagus contract under the strain, your airways narrow.   
And he’ll hold it there, and he’ll praise you some more.

You’re warm, he makes you feel so.   
Warm, warm, warm like you were submerged in water.  
Warm between your legs where his left hand stayed, warm inside where his fingers filled, warm beneath his right palm on your pulsating throat. 

_“Aren’t you just the prettiest picture?”_  
To hear praise from him, you were never more enthralled to be losing your breath. His gleeful giggle reverberated somewhere far away. Though you felt lifeless, that warmth thrummed through your body and your pulse pounded in your ears. An exhibition, something pretty he’d study for a while. Like a butterfly, pinned between sheets of glass.   
Doll-like in his arms, mind melting, hazy, fading beneath his touch, beneath that pressure you would chase endlessly if you could. 

You get small, brief interludes of oxygen as Jerome works you over.   
Dollface, toy, whore- every petname has you tensing, shaking, makes it harder to survive on the short bursts of air he allows you.  
And he can tell, he can always tell.

Jerome allows your game to progress until he grows impatient, until he cuts off your air altogether, and decides you’re _going_ to cum for him. 

He’s whispering encouragement to you as your world tilts. You’re dizzy, drunk on it. Every part of you feels like it’s cracked, strung too loosely, too tight, not at all. Glassy eyes and balled up fists, You have a grip until you don’t have it anymore, you have oxygen until you don’t have it anymore.  
It stops short of your lungs, of your head. Your brain feels like stuffing, rotting. Porcelain cracks up your back and neck.  
Jerome is calling you a good little toy, his good little toy- his pretty little plaything, so _good_ for taking what he gives you, so good for being able to endure it. 

You’re close- the rhythmic push and pull of his fingers has your head lolling to the side, strangled whimpers leaving your lips as his grip tightens further still, his digits push deeper still.

_“Let me hear you.”_  
This was your commencement, you were thrilled, so happy to be used by him, to let the world fade by his hand.   
But your lungs can’t tread his baptism- back near the pillow, far back in your head, you’re screaming to breathe. It falls short of your parted lips, falls short of fruition- but your adrenaline and pleasure were coming to a peak.   
Your thoughts are cotton-lined but alive with small sparks of something almost there.   
Almost, almost, and then it’s over you.  
Through the blood rushing in your ears, you hear Jerome’s satisfied purr as you lose yourself all over his fingers, as he releases your aching throat, and a choked moan comes from your lips.

_“Good little bitch… You did so well.”_

He’ll dress you up again after this. Glue you back together.   
Kiss your ball-joints, comb your hair out and put you back on the shelf.

**Author's Note:**

> SO u May notice i already posted a fic Basically the Same as this bc well, what i wrote worked well for two characters so
> 
> here’s jerommmmeeeee :)


End file.
